Shattered
by lazyboo
Summary: Naomily based one shot.  A brief, bleak exploration of S4 Naomi and her darkest thoughts.


**Shattered**

[S4 Naomi]

It's worse now. So much worse. Beyond fucking horrible in fact. Before, she didn't know any different. She didn't know that life could offer her anything more. Before, she always just accepted that she wasn't good enough. It was just the way life was. She was lacking. And then for one, brief, shining moment - one pristine, crystalline, diamond amongst the dross - she mattered. She was perfect in someone else's eyes. Until the diamond shattered under the pressure, scattering jagged destruction in its wake. Lodging, fragmented, into her heart. Making every breath painful, a reminder of what she'd had. And lost.

And so of course it was worse. It was unbearable. She honestly wasn't sure how exactly she was getting through the days. Wasn't sure how she was getting from one breath to the next. It didn't seem possible. And yet, it was happening. Time was passing. And Emily... Emily was implacable. Couldn't bear to look at her most of the time, and when she did... it drove the shards a little deeper. The hurt, the accusation... the disappointment. It constricted her chest, the pain exquisite in its intensity. Unending. Familiar, yet magnified to a degree beyond comprehension.

Disappointment... it shouldn't hurt so much. It had been her constant companion throughout life. She'd been a disappointment since conception, she knew it. Eternally falling shy of the mark, coming up short, not being good enough. Never cool enough to have friends. Never smart enough to be moved up a grade, where a lack of friends would be justified. Never political enough, never popular enough to be school president. Never pretty enough. Never enough. Never. Enough.

Her very birth had been a disappointment, she was well aware. It had derailed her mother's plans, changed the course of her life. Driven her father away. She wasn't good enough for her father, she wasn't the right choice. So he'd chosen instead to leave her behind, like so much rubbish on the kerbside. So much ballast to be jettisoned without thought. The collateral damage of his abandonment had been, of course, her mother. And so Naomi lived with the knowledge that she'd ruined her mother's life. It was her fault.

It was always her fault. She understood that. Rarely railed against it anymore, even to herself. It was just the way of things. It had been her fault that the boys she tried to fuck had trouble finishing, or even starting. Her fault that she never finished. Her fault that they never called. It was her fault she got picked on mercilessly at school, her fault that the only safe haven she ever found was the library, within the pages of a book. Her fault that the only bright spot in her life was the distant promise of getting out, leaving for university, where she could be anonymous. She had learned to disguise it, over the years. By college she had perfected the mask, solidified the appearance of indifference, learned to outwardly deny that anything was her fault. But underneath the facade she knew it was her fault. She understood.

When it was always your fault, eventually you were bound to cock up monumentally, because really, it was inevitable. You were never good enough to start with. Never made the right decisions. She never set out to deceive Emily, never set out to cheat on her. And yet she did, and it was her fault, entirely her fault, and she knew it. And the knowing compounded the misery. She had tainted their hard, bright moment, introduced an impurity into the jewel of their relationship. Dimmed it's brilliance irrevocably, for a fleeting, irrational moment of rebellion. And now they were all paying. Sophia with her life, Naomi with her pain and her guilt, and Emily... Emily had paid with her happiness, her idealistic belief in goodness. Her light. Sometimes she wondered if Sophia didn't actually get off easier.

Now every time Emily deigned to look at her there was recrimination, where once there had been wonder, and appreciation. Every time Naomi saw the corners of her mouth turn down she remembered when they had curled up into a cheeky smirk, meant only for her. Every time she saw the shimmer of unshed tears in brown eyes she remembered how they looked when Emily told her she loved her, glittering with purpose, and promise.

And it was worse. So much fucking worse. Because she knew, now, what it was to be loved for who she was. What is was to be with someone who gave a fuck about her, who thought she was enough. Who thought she was good enough. Who thought she was cool, and funny and pretty. And now every time she breathed the shards in her heart needled and pierced and reminded her... she was never enough. And it was always her fault.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Depressing much? Yeah, sorry about that. It just came to me that way, and I was hoping I'd be able to ride it out and kick start my mojo onto something more productive.

Are you all reading **FitchSwitch**'s **The Princess Bride**? And **whyyesitscar**'s **If Not You, Who**? I hope so, because they are both amazing. Oh, oh, and **darthcaiter**'s **Twin Thrones**, I can't even... So much good work happening right now.


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